


The Last Trip to Tescos

by out_there



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-24
Updated: 2008-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm never going shopping with you again," Ianto said quickly.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Trip to Tescos

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't imagine Jack and Ianto going to Target, so I sent them to Tescos. Thanks to [](http://ekaterinn.livejournal.com/profile)[**ekaterinn**](http://ekaterinn.livejournal.com/) for betaing, and [](http://gothams3rdrobin.livejournal.com/profile)[**gothams3rdrobin**](http://gothams3rdrobin.livejournal.com/) and [](http://such-heights.livejournal.com/profile)[**such_heights**](http://such-heights.livejournal.com/) for the Britpick.

When Ianto decided to go to the local Tescos, he wanted the following things:  
1\. Milk  
2\. Cif  
3\. More soap for the employee bathrooms  
4\. More shampoo and conditioner for the employee bathrooms (the last brush with chartreuse alien goo left all five of them compulsively showering for days), and  
5\. Salt (they never run out of pepper but they always run out of salt)

On a whim, Ianto added croissants, cheese, ham and tomato to the mental list. Tosh had talked about them this morning and they'd make a good lunch for the team.

The thing Ianto hadn't planned on was Jack. He hadn't planned on Jack looking up from his desk and asking, "Where are you going?" or saying, "Hey, I'll come," when Ianto explained.

"Why?" Ianto had asked carefully.

"Paperwork done, alien threat contained. Now I'm bored."

"Going to the supermarket isn't interesting, Jack."

Jack had shrugged and said, "I'm sure any outing with you will be entertaining."

Trouble with Jack was that he said things like that and then he _made_ them entertaining. He would say inappropriate things in completely inappropriate places and Ianto would be the one mortified in public.

So far, Jack had waggled his eyebrows but hadn't said anything obviously sexual or highly embarrassing. He'd walked beside Ianto as they strolled down the aisles, and when Ianto paused in front of the fridge, debating the necessity of buying both semi-skimmed and whole milk (one for the girls, one for Owen), Jack stood close but there was nothing scandalous to it.

Then Jack pressed his hand flat to the small of Ianto's back.

By Jack's standards, it was barely a gesture, let alone anything worth worrying about. It was simply a hand reaching across Ianto's jacket, lying heavy on the back of Ianto's belt, thumb stroking absently across the fabric. By anyone's standards, it wasn't something Ianto could honestly object to, not on the face of it.

But…it made Ianto's mind wander. It was a distraction. There was a confidence to the pressure of Jack's touch, and Ianto couldn't help thinking about how Jack's hands usually felt against his skin, so deft and sure. How much better the same gesture would have felt on naked skin: the dry warmth of Jack's fingers gliding and stroking, wandering along Ianto's spine.

Part of the trouble was that Jack didn't move his hand. He kept it right there, inviting disconcerting thoughts into Ianto's head.

As they wandered the condiments aisle, Jack kept his hand there, even when Ianto picked up a large tin of salt. Ianto stared closely at Jack's expression, trying to read if Jack was doing this on purpose, but Jack smiled brightly and asked, "Do the brands actually make a difference?"

"No, they don't," Ianto replied and tried to stop himself from thinking about Jack's hand and Jack's arm, and the very nice shoulders attached to those arms. He dropped the salt into the plastic basket on his arm, and tried not to think about the taste of Jack's skin. About Jack on his hands and knees, hands on Jack's hips as Ianto pushed in and in and in; Jack's head bowed, forehead brushing the cotton sheet, sweat breaking out on Jack's skin and the salty taste of it in Ianto's mouth as he licked between Jack's shoulder blades.

Ianto adjusted his grip on the blue shopping basket and held it in front of him.

The next time Ianto was able to focus on anything but the physical act of walking, they were in the bakery. He startled and dropped a bag of crossiants into the basket without even checking the price. But Jack's hand remained, and Ianto couldn't help imagining Jack's hand gliding down to his hip, tugging Ianto's belt loose, pulling down his fly as Jack dropped to his knees. Jack would take his time, would rub his cheek against Ianto's length, then open his mouth and just let the weight of it rest on his tongue. Jack _luxuriated_ in headjobs, there was no other way to describe it. He sucked and licked, tended to hum and occasionally moan, left Ianto in no doubt that Jack enjoyed every minute of it.

They somehow made it to the toiletries aisle, and Ianto watched the shelves around them and tried to ignore Jack's fingers splayed across his back. Then he noticed the bath-oil and remembered Jack stretched out in Ianto's bath, hair dripping and plastered to his forehead. Ianto's floor was wet and his bathmat soaked, and it only got worse when Jack had convinced Ianto to join him. It was cramped and awkward, water splashing noisily onto the tiles, but it was also Jack's chest against his back and Jack's hands around him. Jack's fingernails grazing up his thighs, along his stomach; then Jack sliding one wet hand around Ianto's cock and stroking slowly, the sounds of Ianto's groans reverberating off the tiled walls.

Ianto possibly made a sound because Jack shot him a funny look and asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Ianto said firmly.

By the time he changed his mind on the milk -- safest to get one of each and stop any squabbling -- Jack was watching him too closely. There was a teasing tilt to his lips when asked Ianto, "Sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Ianto's voice was steady, as if he this was an ordinary moment in an ordinary shop, and he was only thinking about practicalities. Not as if he'd been thinking of taking Jack home, pressing him against the wall of Ianto's kitchen and getting rid of Jack's layers of clothing. Undoing the buttons of Jack's shirt, pushing it down his shoulders, and pulling the cream out of Ianto's fridge. If Ianto was prepared, maybe he'd whip the cream with plenty of sugar and drop dollops of white, fluffy mess onto Jack's sternum and stomach, smear it across Jack's skin and then suck it off his own fingers.

Or it might be better fresh from the fridge, cold and runny. He could push Jack against the counter and pour the cream along Jack's collarbones, let it trickle down Jack's chest as Ianto tried to catch it with his tongue, cleaning Jack's skin with long, slow licks.

"I know Owen objects to skimmed milk," Jack said, as Ianto tried to clear the mental images from his own head, "but I think buying cream for him is pandering a little too much."

Ianto blinked. Pulled his hand away from the cream. Picked up the milk. Then he headed straight for the check-out.

As they lined up, Ianto thought about the filing waiting back at the Hub. He thought about the state of the employee showers and how much scrubbing it would take to erase the yellowy-green tinge on the grout. He tried not to think about Jack's hands, Jack's mouth, Jack's skin, and concentrated on paying the cashier.

He still needed to carry the shopping bags in front of him as he crossed the car park.

But Jack's hand was still on him, and just for a moment, Ianto considered pushing Jack into the backseat and finding out if there was enough space to spread Jack's legs and kneel in the foot well, and then bury his face in the smell of Jack. It probably wouldn't be possible with the seats, but he could always push Jack back into the leather and climb into his lap, to settle on Jack's thighs and kiss him while Ianto worked a hand inside Jack's trousers.

Thankfully, Jack didn't notice. He just got behind the steering wheel of the SUV -- he'd insisted on bringing it, despite the fact that Ianto could have walked to the shops just as easily -- and then beamed at Ianto. "And you always say you can't take me anywhere," Jack said smugly.

"I'm never going shopping with you again," Ianto said quickly, and Jack's mouth dropped open. "Never."

"I was on my best behaviour--"

"You wouldn't stop touching me." Ianto didn't care if he sounded annoyed. It was true. "The entire time, Jack."

"I didn't--" Jack stopped, snapped his mouth shut and turned to stare at Ianto as they waited for a red light. He was still staring when it changed to green but his expression had changed from confused and surprised to understanding and self-satisfied.

"Try to get us back to the Hub in one piece," Ianto said, pointing at the road. He hoped it was his imagination that his cheeks felt hot.

Dutifully, Jack turned to look straight ahead. "I thought you liked me touching you."

"Not in public." Ianto spotted the cheeky grin on Jack's face and quickly added, "And that includes the Hub when the others are there."

"Then we should go out for lunch."

"And by out you mean…"

"Your place," Jack said with a grin. "Your bed, if we make it that far."

Ianto didn't need to stop and think about it. "I'll call the others and let them know we'll be late getting back. If they're hungry, they can order pizza."  



End file.
